


Tomorrow There'll Be More Of Us

by monticelllo



Series: (Are You Aware) We're Making History [1]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-08
Updated: 2016-02-24
Packaged: 2018-05-12 15:02:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5670202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monticelllo/pseuds/monticelllo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Laurens didn't expect to fall in love with his roommate--things would be perfect if everyone else didn't fall in love with him in the process.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! I'm going to try to write this in short chapters, but there'll be a lot of them. This'll be mostly Lams, and hopefully I'll find ways to incorporate the Schuyler sisters! <3 I'm working on figuring out how posting stuff here works haha--I deleted this twice trying to figure out the format, aaah sorry!

Early sun rose above Columbia College, warming arrays of plants draped on windowsills and melting thin coatings of frost. Aforementioned plants were gradually perking up thanks to almost motherly care by the hands of a mister Lafayette at the moment, and in Lafayette’s absence, they were begrudgingly tended to by roommate Aaron Burr. Two of three boys in the well-kept dorm were sleeping, while the eldest, previously mentioned Burr, was awake and sitting on a fold-out couch. He was dressed and sipping dark, bitter coffee while awaiting his two surrogate brothers to wake up before he would trek across campus for early-morning classes. He knew this was foolish and he might be late, but he wanted to check up on young Lafayette, who had come down with a cold recently. 

The dynamics in this small home were complex. Lafayette was the one who most frequently prepared breakfast and dinner. He was the one who cared for the plants most often. When he was up late working on essays or projects, he would always check on his two companions while they rested—pulling blankets over them, kissing them on the forehead. When someone (most frequently Hercules Mulligan) arrived home late, drunk and rambling, he would tuck them in with a glass of water and speak to them in soft, sweet words until they dozed off or calmed down. 

Hercules Mulligan was the muscle of the little family. He was tall and muscular and intimidating, and he shared a bunk bed with Lafayette. Bottom bunk, because he tended to roll around at night and he may have fallen off of the top. His classes are in the afternoon and evening, leaving his early mornings to himself. He would spend this time at the dorm chatting with Burr and Lafayette, at the gym, or getting breakfast with Laurens. He’s quite intimidating to a stranger, but to his friends he was protective and somewhat of a “gentle giant”. He was typically the object of Lafayette’s boundless affection—this amused him because one of Mulligan’s hands was quite possibly the size of two of Lafayette’s.

And, lastly, was Aaron Burr. Burr was an early bird—he had morning classes and always was the first to rise. Lafayette and Mulligan could smell bitter, dark coffee brewing from the other room every morning, it became routine. The sounds of coffee brewing and Aaron’s quiet shuffling around was relaxing to them. Burr tended to be the one who cleaned the dorm and made sure everyone kept ahead on their work. He begrudgingly agreed to sleep on the fold-out mattress in the living room, equally as begrudgingly did he agree to care for his favorite fighting Frenchman’s plants while the boy was sick or absent. He was often subject to joking teasing from his friends due to his endless organization and strict, solemn output.

And now, the three were all awakening to the familiar sound of brewing coffee and low-volume television. Lafayette’s eyes opened gently and hesitantly, leaning over the side of the bunk to gaze at Mulligan with wide, almond eyes filled with blatant adoration. But now, things had to be done. Plants needed to be tended to. Essays needed to be written. He reached a dark-skinned hand to Mulligan’s cheek. “Wake up.” He murmured, his voice laced with a thick French accent stunted by a sore throat. Groggy eyes parted halfway, gazing at Lafayette with an exhaustion-hazed mixture of amusement and mild irritation. 

“I’m tired.” He whispered in response, clutching the sheets and pulling them over his head. His head was throbbing with a dull headache and his bones were achy. Lafayette gave a small sigh, sitting up, bouncy curls draping onto his face as he did so. 

“Rest, then.” Lafayette said gently, before he climbed out of bed, pulling covers onto the older boy’s torso. “I’ll come back in an hour.” 

A second body joined Aaron Burr outside, and Mulligan gave a content grunt, drifting back off to sleep. The groggy Frenchman pulled his hair into a tight ponytail, preparing himself a warm cup of tea and telling Aaron goodbye before he left for classes. His almond gaze shifted to the assorted cacti resting on the windowsill. His lithops was blooming, as it was supposed to do in the fall. Bright yellow. He would come to find that this was the favorite color as someone he would soon meet— an immigrant known as Alexander Hamilton.


	2. Tomorrow (There'll Be More of Us)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hamilton meets his dashing roommate and friends, clams up in a rare moment of shyness. Drama ensues. James Madison pines after an unsuspecting, flamboyant Jefferson who is always too quick to reassure that he is most certainly not gay, Drama ensues.

John Laurens was mostly a sweet, open-hearted man, and this benign attitude was known and expected of him. He was a hard worker, though lax enough to attend the party or two, balancing his social and academic life equally. This was what defined him and this was what made him such a well-liked student. 

John was expecting to meet his new roommate today—an immigrant, he’d heard, from St. Croix. Previously, he shared a room with marquis de Lafayette, who requested to switch and room with Hercules Mulligan and Aaron Burr. This was at Burr’s request, simply because he was too uptight to live only with someone as disorganized and almost lazy as Mulligan. Laurens sympathized. Though he did miss Lafayette and mourned the loss of a freshly cooked breakfast every morning and an eager cuddle-buddy, Laurens remained enthusiastic about meeting the new arrival. So now, he was tidying up as to be sure that his new friend would feel welcomed. The room smelled of tea tree incense and cleaning supplies, sheets and covers had been washed thoroughly and layered on the bunk bed they would share. 

John finally stepped back to check his work, and he was pleasantly surprised. He hadn’t really cleaned the place up in long enough, and with the early light filtering through the window, the dorm seems habitable. The freckled boy grinned and pulled an elastic off his wrist, twisting his thick, curly hair into a ponytail before stepping back to leave the room. It was nearly time for breakfast.

When stepping backwards blindly, Laurens turned on his heel and collided with someone a few inches shorter than himself. He gasped a bit, hands grasping the smaller man on instinct. 

Then he caught his bearings and looked down. Small Guy wasn’t that small, maybe two inches shorter than himself. He had long, black hair and wide sable eyes with telltale dark rings under them. He seemed surprised for a second, raising his keen gaze to meet John’s, whom was taken aback.

Small Guy was breathtaking, and Laurens’ heart skipped a beat.

“You’re John Laurens, right? You’re my roommate now.”

Laurens nodded, his lips quickly curling into a smile. Nervously removing his hands from Small Guy’s (surprisingly firm) shoulders, he stepped aside to allow passage into the room.

“Yeah, that’s me. What’s your name, again? I wasn’t told. Also, I’m sorry for bumping into you, I was cleaning and I—“

“Alexander Hamilton.” The taller of them blushed, realizing that he was most certainly rambling. He took a quick breath and smiled once again. 

“Nice to meet you, Alexander. Can I call you Alex?” In response, Small Guy Alexander Hamilton smiled back and nodded, with a quick; “Yeah, that’s fine!” 

Alex glanced around the immaculate room for a few seconds, his voice soft when he asked, “You cleaned up? Thank you.” 

Laurens wondered briefly why his acquaintance was so withdrawn. Maybe he was just shy, or anxious to begin a new school in a new state. Laurens was unaware that Alexander was somewhat perturbed about a previous interaction he’d had with a tall, wild-haired student and his smaller, stocky friend on his way to the dorm—he received a few less-than-welcoming glances from the taller one, who wore bright purple and kneeled down to whisper something to the other. He’d also been introduced very briefly to an almost icy man exiting his dorm room, carrying coffee nearly as dark and bitter as himself, and a small backpack. Alexander had been curious about this individual—he had felt somewhat drawn to him. He was almost familiar.

But, of course, John Laurens was unaware that any of this had taken place, and Hamilton didn’t seem ready to chat just yet. So he stood and watched quietly as Alexander set down his bags, disappearing into the second room past the kitchen. Laurens followed, and the small boy turned to him, meeting his gaze once again. Laurens felt like the inside of his stomach was tingling. God, his eyes were so calculating and intelligent and it almost terrified him. He looked like he was building castles and cathedrals in his mind, like he could kill someone with words.

“You’re on the bottom bunk.” John said quickly, and Alexander set a laptop and a bag seemingly full of books down onto it. “Breakfast is soon, but I don’t know when your classes start. I could bring you back something, if you’d like. Or you could come with me.” Laurens offered, hastily exiting the room to grab his backpack. He had American History in an hour, leaving him enough time to get breakfast. “I’m meeting Lafayette, Hercules and Aaron there. You don’t know them.” 

Alexander appeared to freeze for a second. His mind was wandering back to the stoic man he passed on the way here. Had his name been Aaron? Perhaps. 

“I’ll take you up on that offer.” Alexander responded. His lips quirked upwards curiously. Alexander realized for a moment that Laurens didn’t know a lot of things. He didn’t know of Hamilton’s affinity towards making enemies. He also didn’t know that Hamilton felt the same rush of adrenaline when he first made eye contact with Laurens, with that smile that could outshine a thousand suns. 

Laurens had no idea who he was dealing with here.  
_____________  
Alexander’s mind was hard at work.

The moment he entered the campus, his brain was soaking up information in that calculating way it always did. He saw a tall boy with wild, dark hair and a condescending aura, and another who seemed calm and collected and almost withdrawn. Alexander met both of them with the eyes that blew Laurens away so quickly—he was challenging and fierce and was the type to speak his mind, no matter how inappropriate the setting may be. So when he met Laurens, Alexander tried to size him up, unsuccessfully. All he knew was that John Laurens was almost sinfully enticing with those almond eyes and curls that framed a 1000 volt smile and freckles like stars. It absolutely terrified Hamilton because he knew he had no self-control. Everyone knew this.

But now he was following his new roommate out of the dorm, to god knows where breakfast was. He couldn’t help but let his gaze wander, gulping. Judging by the general appearance of John, he probably did sports. Broad shoulders. Quickly averting his gaze, Hamilton examined the students on campus. Most probably stayed in for breakfast, but he did see the two boys he saw earlier—the tall, handsome one with the wild black hair and bright purple attire and his smaller, more soft-looking companion wearing a gray knit sweater and denim jeans. The taller one flashed him a sarcastic grin. The shorter one glanced back and forth at them for a second, as if confused, before he gave a somewhat hesitant smile. Blinking, Hamilton reached out a hand to tap gently on Laurens’ side. The freckled boy turned to him and asked; “What’s wrong?”

“Who’re those two over there?” Alex asked curiously, nodding inconspicuously towards the pair. John peeked over his shoulder to see before he rolled his eyes, pursing his lips.

“Thomas and James. James is his Thomas’ better half, and that’s saying a lot because they’re both nasty.” This elicited a chuckle from Alexander, who quickly decided that he didn’t like Thomas and James. 

“I hate them.” He said decidedly, and Laurens laughed, eyes lighting up in an amused way that made Alexander’s breath catch. 

“You don’t know them!” Laurens agreed, of course, the pair were insufferable, but Alex’s surety put him off a bit. What a fiery man.

“Well, I’ve known you for only half an hour, and I have decided that I like you.” That was an understatement. Alex wanted to see that warm grin more, but next time, pressed against a wall. Alex bit his lip in a subconscious effort to keep himself from blushing at his less-than-decent thoughts, looking up to see that Laurens had most certainly allowed a shade of red to dust his cheeks. Little did he know that Laurens was taken aback at his straightforwardness. He would push it aside, though, slapping back on previously mentioned irresistible grin that had begun to falter in his thought.

The pair stopped at a small café, and Alexander paused to examine the area, as to make sure he remembered. The café was small and decorated with house plants and bright red tables, and sitting at one of said tables were three boys, one of which Alexander recognized. Dark, cool eyes and a smile that seemed like it didn’t know if it was really happy. Next to him was a smaller, thinner one with a wild mane of dark black pulled into a ponytail, and next to that one was a large man with a round, friendly face wearing a bandana tied around his head.

The stonefaced, cold one gave him a strange look, before making a small motion that must have been a wave, before all eyes drifted towards John Laurens, who continued to smile warmly at the trio.  
“Hercules, Aaron, Lafayette, meet Alexander! He’s my new roommate.” And suddenly all eyes were on Alex again, as the two took a seat at their table. Lafayette was the first to smile back. He was cute, Alex decided, but perhaps not in the same way as mister John Laurens was cute. Lafayette was cute, Laurens was positively alluring.

Hamilton was snapped out of his train of thought when Lafayette spoke,

“Nice to meet you, Alexander!” 

Hamilton was surprised to hear a thick French accent around Lafayette’s words—this sparked a certain amount of comradery between the two, somewhere deep in Alex’s mind, for a few reasons. One; Lafayette was an immigrant, like himself. Two; Alex felt like he knew the Frenchman from somewhere. Who knows where and who knows why.

Once again snapping out of his nebulous state of pondering, Alexander smiled back at Lafayette.

“Nice to meet you, as well.” He paused for a second, before adding, “I took French in highschool.”

Lafayette’s eyes seemed to light up and his grin only grew. This elicited a small chuckle from Hercules, who side-eyed his small companion with a look of amusement and perhaps adoration, Alex couldn’t tell. But his focus switched to Aaron, examining the seemingly older boy with a fierce, inquisitive look that earned him a confused glace from Laurens. 

And the rest of breakfast went this way—chatting, asking questions about one another, laughing and smiling. Once it was about time for Hamilton to make his way to his PoliSci class, he had begun to realize he’d made friends.

So, he stood up and swung his backpack over the shoulder, smiling. “I’ve gotta go—Political Science.” Mulligan let out a groan, rolling his eyes.

“You’ve got the best teacher, but the worst classmates, man. Good luck.” And with that, Hamilton waved his goodbyes and trekked across campus, finding himself walking behind a familiar, purple-clad individual and his small friend.  
________________

Thomas Jefferson was a flirt.

This wasn’t a hard concept to grasp and it most certainly wasn’t a bad thing, right? Countless times he had found people falling in love with him, and he knew the signs. Whispering. Smiling. That stupid cheeky grin that Madison got whenever they studied together. The only girl he’d been unsure about was Angelica Schuyler so long ago—god, she was a tough nut to crack with those harsh, judging eyes that could size you up so quickly and efficiently it almost made Jefferson self-conscious. Almost.

He was also all-too aware of Madison’s ever-growing, kind-of-adorable crush on him. He chose to ignore it. Sure, it was rude, and Jefferson didn’t mind the extra attention at all. But, he was a free spirit. Polyamory wasn’t really his thing, he just liked to bounce from person to person. He comforted himself in this regard by saying he was just “not ready to settle down”. The truth was, he just was  
1\. A douchebag  
2\. Afraid of commitment.

 

There was one more thing to be known about Jefferson—he had PoliSci with Hamilton as of today. 

And, Jefferson always sat at the same desk—the one closest to the window. It provided warm lighting and a pretty view. And, everyone knew that this was Jefferson’s spot. He remained unchallenged, as always. In general, he had always been an intimidating force on campus. With a battalion of lovestruck girls (and Madison, but he may as well be a lovestruck girl) at his back, no one dared question his mostly unspoken authority.

Until Hamilton came around.

Hamilton changed everything, and Thomas didn’t like that, not one bit. In fact, he’d been walking to breakfast with James when he first saw the man, and two things occurred to him. One, Hamilton was undeniably attractive, and this pissed Thomas off. Two, he’d never seen Hamilton on campus before. He’d heard mutterings of Laurens getting a new roommate (gossip always got back to him), and that must mean that this was said roommate. He leaned down to mention this to Madison (who was quite a bit shorter than himself), and naturally, Madison would be as disgruntled with the tiny threat as Jefferson was. Madison always took Thomas’ side. Thomas secretly loved this.

Hamilton was a threat because he was sharp in more ways than one. He could calculate you in a second, stare right through your soul, argue with you on the pettiest of subjects and always win. Also, Jefferson was always the campus hottie—tall, dark eyes, a smile that could light up a room—a questionable personality, of course, but that didn’t matter so much to him. He therefore assumed it didn’t matter to anyone else, either. Hamilton would end up challenging his position there, too. 

What a predicament.

So, Jefferson would wander into his PoliSci class quietly, with so much on his mind when a familiar, small individual would step in front of him and walk in first. How rude. Then he realized—tiny person was Alexander. And Alexander was sitting in his spot. So he did what any respectable man would do—he waltzed right up to the little fiend, put on a polite (but strained) smile and said;

“Hey, you must be Alexander, right? I thought I should tell you, that’s my desk.”

Alexander looked up slowly and gave Jefferson the most strange look. It didn’t look hostile, more irritated, he supposed.

“We have assigned seats?” 

This confused Jefferson. No, they didn’t have assigned seats, but who was he to ask? That was Jefferson’s spot. He practically claimed it. Everyone knew this, nobody questioned it. Until now, of course, and this really pissed Jefferson off. He was flabbergasted, and gave a small, indignant, “No, but that’s my spot!”

Alexander didn’t seem to get the memo. 

“If there aren’t assigned seats, then how is it your seat?” He asked quietly, quirking an eyebrow in false interest.

And so, Jefferson gave a small stutter, planning on arguing, but shut his mouth after a moment of thought. No, he couldn’t pick a fight with this little tyrant just yet. So he gave a small exhale, smiled and retreated to the back of the class. He didn’t look back to see Alexander’s expression. 

The back of the class was a safe place to mutter back and forth with whoever happened to be sitting there (today a young girl named Angelica Schuyler—whenever he would lean over to speak to her, she would give him a most disapproving glance and not respond.) So today he wouldn’t chat—instead he would fall deep into thought, his eyes settling on the somewhat hunched figure of Alexander, who’d already begun almost frantically note-taking into a spiral notebook. He was handsome, to be honest. Lean figure, intelligent eyes. That small quirk in his lips when he smiled in the most sarcastic of manners. Jefferson averted his eyes from the new kid and took a breath, smiling absently and taking out his laptop to type up notes.

An hour came and passed, and suddenly people were standing up, making their way out of the classroom. He stood and turned his head to ask something to Angelica—he was wondering if she knew anything about Alexander—but she’d already disappeared into the crowd. No surprise. Slinging his backpack over his shoulder with one last curious glance towards Hamilton, who had stepped aside to speak to the teacher, he whisked his way out of the classroom with the smallest of grins on his face. 

He’d been on the way back to his dorm to get snacks when he found Madison. The small boy had trekked out to meet him outside of class, the sweetheart. James approached with a warm smile and hot chocolate (that must have been burning his hands, poor kid), which he handed to Jefferson happily.

“Did you get a chance to talk to the new kid?” Madison asked eagerly. He seemed so excited, but he quickly regained his “cool” (couldn’t look like a dork in front of Thomas) and his grin turned into a forced, calm smirk, which was Thomas’ default.

“Not really. Kid took my spot, can you believe? And he had the nerve to ask ‘ooh, do we have assigned seats? Is that even your spot?’ What does he know?” Thomas huffed, taking an indignant sip of hot cocoa. Madison furrowed his brow, puffing out his cheeks.

“That’s awful! How dare he? I know as well as anyone that that’s your spot, Jeffs.” He responded, nodding knowingly before adding, “Anything else?”

“Nope. He’s cute, though.”

This earned Jefferson a blank look and a small cock of the head that no one would notice if they didn’t know Madison like he did. 

“I mean, no homo, right?” He added quickly, eyes widening.

That seemed to make it worse. Jefferson couldn’t understand why Madison bit his lip before smiling all wide again.

“Yeah, haha! Well, we’ll sort that kid out, right?”

Jefferson smirked, nodding. “Right.”


	3. Love Doesn't Discriminate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alexander Hamilton goes to a party. He gets acquainted with Thomas Jefferson, who always seems to be flanked by a small, motherly James Madison who only wants the best for his Thomas. Thomas is stupid and unassuming. Hamilton gets kind of slammed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Place to Be-- group chat name, in case anyone was wondering.
> 
> this was really fun to right. aaaaah I love Madison & Jefferson's relationship dynamics. mads is so sweet..

The sun was beginning to set, and John Laurens was sitting at his desk, his gaze hanging over Hamilton’s bed. He didn’t seem to pack much—a quilted blanket, a laptop, a shit-ton of books, and a few pens and documents. He was about to go take a look at the plethora of novels Alexander had brought with him when the man in question entered the room, appearing somewhat excited over god-knows-what. 

“John! I got invited to a party by some girl in my Political Science class this morning. Didn’t catch her name. You should come with me!”

It occurred to John that this would be Alexander’s first party here, and he would probably need someone to look after him. Someone to hold his hair back while he was puking. Laurens had the full intent of going, but he had an essay to write.

“I’ll meet you there, alright? Gotta finish this paper. Find Lafayette and Mulligan, hang out with them till I show up, okay?” 

Alexander nodded, grinning, and bounced over to his suitcase to take out some clothes—a warm-looking flannel shirt, dark jeans, and blue converse. He pulled a bomber jacket on to keep out the chill in the air, and practically sprinted to the door before turning to Laurens again.

“You sure you can’t come now? I could help you with your essay when you get back. I’m a really good writer!” 

A tempting offer, for sure. But, Laurens would sigh and shake his head.

“I promise I’ll be there in an hour. Don’t worry.”

Hamilton seemed satisfied with that and he headed out the door, turning to smile one last time at Laurens before disappearing into the hallway. John returned to his typing before peeking out the door, calling out; “Be careful, okay?”

Hamilton didn’t seem to hear him.  
___________

 

James Madison knew Thomas’s limits better than the man himself.

He was tolerant of his drinking, his smoking weed in their all-too-cramped dorm room, his affairs, his drunk crying. When Thomas went to sleep, he draped blankets over him. He made his coffee in the morning (light and sweet). James didn’t do any of these things because he had to, he did them because he wanted to. Jefferson didn’t know this. Jefferson didn’t understand that James Madison wasn’t “just crushing” on him. No, James loved him. Thomas didn’t know that, nor did he care to acknowledge it.

So, of course, Madison was sitting with Jefferson as bad music pounded through his skull, chuckling as the taller, more reckless man downed his third bottle of vodka. His favorite. The stuff tasted bitter and cheap to James, though, so he would quietly sip sparkling cider and make sure he didn’t drink more than two more. That was when Thomas would get near passing out.

“Shit.” Jefferson muttered, his gaze flickering towards a small group that Madison recognized. Lafayette, Mulligan, and, not surprisingly, Alexander.

“Shit. Why is he here? Madison, do you know why he’s here?” He demanded, his words vaguely slurred.

“You’re drunk. Don’t confront him now. Drink some water first.” James responded pointedly, wincing at Jefferson’s indignant huff.

He sat still, though, glaring visibly at the trio before Alexander took notice. The small menace began walking directly towards them.

“James. Go somewhere. Bye.” Thomas said stiffly, and Madison shuffled off without question.

____________

 

“Hey.”

Jefferson looked up blankly at Hamilton, who took a seat where Madison had been sitting previously. 

“What do you want?”

That, admittedly, sounded harsh. In his defense, Thomas was somewhat tipsy, and that was the best he could say at the moment without looking stupid. He motioned for the waitress—a curvy girl wearing a form-fitting red dress—to bring him a glass of water.

“Nothing in particular. I’m trying to meet people around here, you know? I transferred late.”

Jefferson raised an eyebrow. “You’re a freshman, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Hamilton nodded, sliding the waitress a few dollars when she brought Jefferson his water. The wild-haired man flashed her a grin that transformed into a stiff glare when it shifted to Alexander.

“I don’t think you got my name this morning. I’m Alexander Hamilton.” 

He said it so nonchalantly, as if he completely forgot about their minor disagreement that morning (a disagreement that Jefferson took very seriously).

“Thomas Jefferson.”

“Nice to meet you.” Hamilton smiled, running a hand through his long, dark hair.

“You too.” He replied warily. “How do you like it here?’

“Much colder. It never snowed where I lived.”

“Florida?” Thomas had never been to Florida, but he heard that Miami was poppin’. 

“Nah. Hey, I gotta go, I think my roommate is gonna show up soon.” He said quickly, turning and escaping into the crowd.

Jefferson stared at Hamilton’s figure as it vanished for a moment, before his gaze travelled to Madison again, who was patiently sipping his cider and chatting with John Baker Church, who scurried off when Jefferson so much as looked at him. Madison blinked at Thomas before approaching, taking his seat back and tilting his head in a questioning manner.

“What’d he want?” He asked, pushing the still-full glass of water towards Jefferson.

“Said he wanted to ‘make friends’. Jesus Christ, he’s obnoxious. And he’s dressed like a goddamn hobo.” He snapped, ignoring the water and waving over the gorgeous waitress to order some more vodka. James fiddled with the sleeves of his turtleneck.

He then sighed and discreetly rolled his eyes. “Tom, you really should slow down on the vodka, y’know.”

Jefferson rolled his eyes in return, much more indiscreetly.

“Shut up. Hey, are you sober? Damn.” His voice was laced with drunken giggles as he flashed a wink at the red-dressed waitress.

Madison had aspirin in the deep pockets of his sweater, just in case.  
_______________

 

John Laurens appeared at the party not much later. It held at a popular, off-campus club, probably hosted by Thomas Jefferson, judging by the expensive choice in alcohol. He found himself shoving through the crowd, finally spotting Lafayette, Mulligan, and Hamilton at a small table in the far corners of the area, chatting and drinking. He approached with a smile that was met with identical smiles by the trio, and he pulled up a chair from an empty table to join them.

“Finish your essay, Laurens?” Hamilton asked, smiling. 

“You look tired. Why aren’t you at home, my friend?” Lafayette added, his voice laced with concern. 

Laurens chuckled. “Yeah, I did. Three pages of bullshit. And yeah, I am tired, of course I am. But somebody had to be here to make sure Alex here doesn’t pass out, right?” It occurred to him that he sounded absolutely cynical.

“Hey! Whiskey for this dumbass, alright? Thank you.” Mulligan called to the waitress, uttering a throaty, bemused laugh. 

“We’ve got you taken care of, Laurens. You’ll sleep fine tonight, eh?” He said, smiling as he took a heavy gulp from his own cheap, bitter-tasting whiskey.   
_______________

It was hours—or maybe just minutes—later, when Hamilton stood up and escaped to the restroom, tripping over his own feet as he went. The room was spinning, and he felt like a war was being raged in his churning stomach. He didn’t see Jefferson’s amused scoff as he slammed the restroom door open, splashing his burning face with water from the sink. He didn’t realize that he’d been followed by John Laurens, who was also drunk, but to a much lesser extent, judging by how carefully he was speaking.

“Hamilton, are you alright?” He asked gently. “You’re slammed, man. Do you wanna go home?”

Alexander gave a halfhearted laugh, gazing at Laurens through half-lidded eyes. 

“Yeah, yeah. We should go home. Can’t drive, though.”

Laurens slung an arm around his shoulder, guiding him out of the restroom and towards the exit. 

“I’ll catch a cab, aight?”

They stood in the cold for a few minutes before Laurens managed to wave over a taxi.

The ride home was quiet and bumpy. Alexander fell asleep on John’s shoulder.  
_____________

THE PLACE TO BE

Hercules: yo did you guys punk out or smth

Hercules: or are you 2 in the bathroom 2gether ;-)

Hercules Mulligan has been removed from The Place to Be

Lafayette: Alexander was pretty drunk. Did you take him home? Is he alright?

John: ye he fell asleep in the taxi

John: we’re almost home ill text you when we’re there

Hercules Mulligan has joined The Place to Be

Lafayette: Alright.

Mulligan: ????  
_______________

The previous night was somewhat of a blur for Thomas Jefferson, who opened his eyes only halfway when he awoke before clamping them shut again. The light that filtered through his thick eyelashes was way too much for him to handle as he buried his face in a pillow, ignoring the rumbling of his stomach or the pounding in his skull. Had he passed out? Did Madison drive him home? Sometimes his constant refusal to get drunk was convenient, but it was still unbearable. Out of all the parties they’ve gone to, Jefferson could only recall Madison drinking a few sips of light beer before switching it out for iced water. 

Their beds were separated by a nightstand and a stack of textbooks. They each got half of the nightstand—Jefferson’s half consisted of a half-empty box of condoms, a (mostly decorative) wine glass, a “London: Tea and Lemon” Bath & Body Works candle, and a French Course 2: Rosetta Stone package. With a soft groan, Jefferson raised his head to peek across the nightstand. Madison wasn’t there. Jefferson looked stumped for a moment before he sat up with a much louder groan, bringing a hand to his aching back. With a small whine, he dunked his feet into a bucket of ice cold water that he always kept at the side of his bed (for whatever reason, he found this to be healthy), and looked into their tiny kitchen. Ah, there he was. The comforting smell of coffee (light and sweet) was gradually filling the room, and Madison turned to him from the microwave and gave him the slightest of smiles.

“Morning. You were hammered last night. I drove you home. You started flirting with Angelica Schuyler, so I wanted to get you out of there before she snapped your neck.” He joked, approaching Thomas with a coffee mug in hand. 

“You must be awfully hungover. Do you want aspirin or something?”

Madison looked so concerned. That look always frustrated Jefferson. He looked like a combination of disappointed, worried and motherly. In a rare moment of affection, Jefferson sighed and shook his head, leaning forward to give James a small, brief hug before leaning back onto his bed again.

“Yeah, I’ll take aspirin.” He said simply, carefully grasping the hot coffee mug and taking a long, thoughtful gulp. Madison’s face seemed to rapidly approach the red shade of the CNN logo before he stood up and quickly went to retrieve aspirin from their medicine cabinet.

While his small nurse was standing on his tip-toes in an attempt to grab the pills, Thomas regained his old, obnoxious mannerisms.

“Man, did you see Hamilton last night? The guy was drunk as a sailor! I hear Laurens had to catch a taxi to bring him home. It was only, like, 10 o’clock! What a pussy, am I right?” He cackled, leaning on the headboard of his bed. 

Madison shuffled over and passed him three aspirin capsules, which he swallowed with ease and followed up with more coffee.

“I hear Angelica Schuyler was the one who invited him, actually. She’s never seemed the type to suck up to guys. I don’t know.” He said more softly, picking up the knitting needles and yarn on his half of the nightstand. Thomas raised his eyebrows.

“Don’t you tell me you’re making another turtleneck.”

“I most certainly am.” 

Jefferson groaned for the tenth time this morning and sat up abruptly, his head spinning. 

“Jesus Christ. Okay. I have to get ready for PoliSci.” He muttered. “I’m going to shower. Thanks for the coffee.”

Madison smiled a little bit when Thomas retreated to the bathroom, turning his attention to his knitting. He would quietly relish in this most pleasant of mornings for days to come.  
___________


End file.
